


the king of my heart

by loserrobin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, M/M, No Character Death, Swearing, messing with the timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserrobin/pseuds/loserrobin
Summary: Concept : Renly survives the shadow demon baby assassin.Setting : Canon verse.Warning : mostly angst, but with a happy ending, a lil swear word, kinda quick exploration of concept.Word Count : 1320.
Relationships: Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell - side pairing
Kudos: 25





	the king of my heart

**Author's Note:**

> What if Renly had survived the attack with the shadow assassin? A short exploration that could be expanded upon later. I don't mention Melisandre because I didn't want to overcomplicate things, but I imagine Loras would've been furious enough to attempt... swinging his sword at her if she was there. I also would hope Stannis wasn't that careless to bring her along knowing everything that happened.
> 
> I really love the Baratheon brothers and their intricate relationship with one another. One of my favorite things about Stannis is his remorse and deep-rooted love he has for his siblings even if he doesn't show it.
> 
> I plan to make a sequel regarding Stannis and Renly reconciling if anyone is interested.

A whimper of pain draws the attention of all in the room, but Loras is the first to move, swift and hurried as he takes a searching hand into his own. Dazed eyes look up at him, a deep blue today, Baratheon features creased with sweat and confusion.

“Loras,” a hoarse voice calls out. “Where is my flower?”

“Here, my king. I am here.”

A gentle squeeze, a call for the maester and night turns to day and to night and to day. Renly’s fever pitches and wanes like the waxing of the moon and Loras worries his lip until it bleeds, unmoving as a statue by the bedside of his lover and friend.

“Lady Catelyn wishes me to go with her. It isn’t safe to stay here any longer.”

Margaery, his sister, halfway to twin, places a dainty hand on his shoulder, imploring him to follow. He cannot abandon his king, his heart, but Highgarden is no safer than Storm’s End and Winterfell may hold the only hope they have left.

\---

His sweet sister gets her prince charming, becomes a Queen, stands strong against the winds of winter that chill their skin. The North is not pleasant to a flower like Loras, but he is ever grateful for their hospitality, for taking them in, for finding care for Renly.

“All he does is sleep,” he murmurs to his sister one evening, hiding away from the wolves that dare judge him for his Southern ways, for his loyalty, for his love. “Some nights he says things, like he’s dreaming of summer.”

Small and gentle hands touch his shoulders, feels a kiss pressed into his hair. Her voice is solemn, but sweet, comforting in his time of need. “He’ll awaken soon, I’m sure of it. The maesters have done everything they can, now he must heal on his own.”

“He’s strong,” a whisper, almost a plea.

Any reassurances she could have given him would have amounted to nothing. All he wanted was his prince back.

\---

“I should strike you down where you stand.”

Anger turns the words into a hiss full of spit and venom. It curls lips into a snarl, eyes shining with harsh words that have yet to be said. Stannis doesn’t belong here in the North where Renly lies half-dead from attempted fratricide. Loras is a dangerous enemy to face, fuelled by sleepless, fretful nights and a festering vengeful spirit. Brienne is on his left, palm over pommel, ready to strike with steel at any moment, to cut down and bloody the ground. He’s begrudgingly grateful for her loyalty, defending her king even now.

Stannis is a stone statue of stern, solemn remorse. Renly used to laugh about how his brother never smiled, how he’d tell any joke he could just to see if Stannis would ever crack. Renly who was always laughing, always smiling, Renly, Renly, Renly…

“You would strike your king?”

The audacity only fans the flames. “I would rather pierce myself on my own sword before swearing fealty to you, _false king_.”

There’s a twitch and Loras is ready to foam at the mouth like an animal when he comes to the realization Stannis is fighting _**a smile**_. As forlorn as the expression may be, underneath lies something akin to amusement.

“My brother is most fortunate to have someone that’ll die for his false claim.” Then the grimace is back. “If it pleases you to know, I haven’t slept right since that time. I have come to pay my respects and amend my wrongs.”

“A truce,” Margaery murmurs to his right, snapping his attention to her. His eyes narrow with suspicion and betrayal, pained by her placation.

It _hurts_ , everything hurts these days.

“He’s a monster. You cannot trust him!”

The King in the North silences him, reprimands him, but not harshly. “We must set aside our differences if we mean to win this war. Should Lord Renly wake… he should decide on the fate of forgiveness for his brother.”

“Don’t tell me how to feel,” high-pitched, bubbling, nauseating laughter.

It is inevitable that he must allow this, that he will bow his head and gnash his teeth and pray to the gods that mercy will find him soon.

\---

It’s been days since Renly has last opened his eyes, breathing shallow and reaching with a weakness not meant for someone of his strength and build. Loras presses sugary-sweet kisses to brow and cheek, nose and lips and chin in the privacy of their tent, whimpering at the pale complexion of the skin under his lips.

“Please wake up,” he begs, broken in the dark, face shielded by falling curls. “I need you to wake up.”

\---

“You look wilted.”

He can’t remember when he last bathed, last ate, last slept, everything is a blur of prayers and late night pleading to a sleeping, deathly still form. Hearing the hoarse words sends an ache through his chest, the hollowed out hole left there refilling with an intense feeling that leaves Loras choking back tears. He grasps a searching hand, wills his warmth and strength back into the skin, laying kisses atop knuckles and fingers.

“I have been waiting for the sun to come back.”

\---

“You’re shaking.”

Brienne’s observation is not what he needs right now. What he needs is to be back in that tent, to make certain Renly is not about to die at the hands of his brother _again_.

“Why aren’t you?” He barks back at her.

That makes her quiet, but the satisfaction of it barely touches him. He can’t be smug when he truly is quivering in his boots, waiting and waiting and _waiting_. He hates it, this little game of propriety, would rather burst through the tent and tell Stannis to fuck right off. He doesn’t want to speak of forgiveness after days of heartache and fear.

After a discernible amount of time, Stannis and his lackey Davos exit the tent. Loras doesn’t return their respectable nods at his presence, sweeping through the flap to access what damage they could’ve done—

“I’m alive,” amusement greets him and it’s good that Renly can sit up, can eat properly, and can stay awake long enough to hold a conversation.

He staggers closer, relief draining the surge of adrenaline that had been keeping him upright. “I couldn’t trust him.”

Renly laughs because he always laughs, always manages to pull a smile from him. He holds out a hand, beckoning, and Loras obeys. “You’ve been biting your lip.”

Loras sucks it into his mouth, dull to the faint taste of steel. “What did he say to you?”

“Nosy,” is a tease and then he’s pulled to sit on the bed, an insistent hand pushing his head down onto a shoulder. “He came to reconcile. I am relinquishing my claim to the crown.”

“That bastard.”

“Hush, I have been foolish to think it was for me to begin with. Storm’s End is my home, Edric Storm my heir, and you… I cannot wish for more if I have you.”

Loras wants to fight, wants to give biting retorts, to thrash and snarl. He cannot find the energy to do so, not to Renly who he finally has back.

“If that is what you wish.”

He lifts his head, nose to nose with the only man he means to die for. A kiss molds them together, chaste and plain compared to the many they’ve shared in the past. If they win this war, Loras will be taking many liberties, including spending the rest of his life unabashed with the king of his heart.

And Renly will continue to laugh and smile, will continue to joke, and one day Loras will tell his nieces and nephews a tale of love and hope and triumph, of the bravery of their mother and the mercy of their father and how their uncle nearly withered away waiting for his sun to return.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this through! If you liked this and are interested in other works, check out my profile and the other fics I've written. If you'd like to talk, ask questions, ect., find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/teslawrites) or [tumblr](https://loserrobin.tumblr.com/).


End file.
